Homecoming
by Amiyrasmom
Summary: John's home from Afghanistan. How does Sherlock deal with the emotions brought on by an injured John? Honey 'Verse right after Danger Night. Rating may change.
1. Texts

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were but they're not so I'll have to suffer through my disappointment.**

**A/N: Sorry for the lateness of this update. I've been sick or working all week.**

**Texts**

The beeping signaling a text message from his phone woke Sherlock. He noted that his back hurt a bit and that his sofa seemed to have shrunk before the events of the night before slammed into his memory. He wasn't at home. He'd stayed at the Lestrade's last night because John…he wouldn't finish that thought.

His phone beeped insistently and he grabbed it off the table by the sofa before sitting up. He listened for a moment but all was silence in the Lestrade household. He flipped open the mobile and checked the time. _5:28_ am. Lestrade's alarm would be going off soon then.

He opened his text message folder. _5 new texts._ All of them from an undisclosed number. Mycroft then. Sighing he opened the first message.

_20:16 _

_S,_

_ Just watched the CCTV feeds. Am researching details. Will pull M from summit meeting if necessary. Will send details ASAP._

_ -A_

Sherlock gave a humorless smile. Of course A was still checking the CCTV cameras and had her BlackBerry. She flouted the rules whenever it suited her. She really was the perfect assistant for Mycroft. He opened the next message preparing for the gory details of John's injury.

_20:22 _

_S,_

_ Have sent you J's medical records. The summary is: he was shot through the right shoulder. Scapula shattered as well as clavicle. Subclavian artery pierced. Suffering from infection. Have arranged transport to London as soon as stable._

_ -A_

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut. Serious injury. Life threatening. Not good. More than a bit not good. He fumbled open the next text as he heard Lestrade's alarm ring.

_21:33 _

_S,_

_ Am pulling M from summit meeting. Army not cooperating. Infection being treated. Have arranged best doctors. Will be in Afghanistan in two hours._

_ -A_

Sherlock scowled at his mobile. Stupid Army. Why did they have to make things difficult?

"Morning, Sherlock," Lestrade said blearily on his way past to the kitchen. "Coffee?" Sherlock only grunted in acknowledgement and opened the next text.

_ 23:46 _

_Brother,_

_ Anabella has informed me fully of the situation. Actions have been taken. When you wake stay where you are and have some breakfast. The situation will be resolved._

_ -MH_

Sherlock smirked. He could almost feel sorry for the idiots that Mycroft was about to rain terror down upon. But he didn't. John needed to be home and if the Army was blocking that then Mycroft could wield his power until Sherlock got what he wanted. There was one more text left.

"Good morning, dearest," Joanne greeted him. "Good news then?" She motioned to the mobile with one hand and handed him a cup of coffee with the other. "Drink it, Sherlock."

"Morning, Joanne," he returned the greeting and accepted the coffee. "Yes and no," Sherlock held up the mobile. "Anabella pulled Mycroft from his meeting and he's raising Hell with the Army. But John's hurt badly." He looked down into the dark brown depths of the coffee for a moment and then opened the last message.

_ 04:27 _

_Brother,_

_ Everything has been taken care of. J will be returning to London this afternoon. You may meet him at Sister Agnes' at four. May I suggest you remove all toxic substances and body parts from your flat in the mean time? As J will be returning for good your belongings will be moved to your new lodgings at 221B Baker St. as soon as can be arranged. Do not sulk, little brother. You were going to move there when he came home anyway._

_ -M_

Sherlock scowled at the message for form's sake. He was actually pleased that Mycroft was taking care of the move for him. This way he could stay with John and not worry about packing his things and moving them to Mrs. Hudson's.

"Here, dearest," Joanne set a plate of toast and jam in his lap. "Eat."

"Thank you, no, Joanne, I have to go back to the flat and clean things up before meeting John." He moved to give the plate back.

Joanne merely lifted an eyebrow and stared at him until he relented. "Good boy," she patted his head and Sherlock glared at her while he took a bit of toast.

For twenty minutes Sherlock endured the banal domesticity of the early morning Lestrades before he decided that the conventions of friendship had been met. "I have to go," he announced just after six o'clock and rose to his feet.

Lestrade eyed him shrewdly. "You going to be all right?"

Sherlock nodded. "Fine. I have to go finish up some experiments and then meet John at Sister Agnes' at four."

Lestrade smirked. "Mycroft finished his summit meeting then? Good. He should have known earlier."

Sherlock shook his head with his own smirk. "Anabella pulled him out when she checked the CCTV feeds."

Lestrade chuckled. "That doesn't surprise me nearly as much as it should. That girl adores John. She was probably nearly as concerned as you were."

Sherlock smiled softly. "Yes, she does and she was." His mobile beeped again and he dug it out of his trouser pocket as he hefted his coat to throw it on.

_S,_

_ J's condition has improved. Antibiotics fighting infection satisfactorily. Being prepped for transport now. M and I will join you tomorrow. M requests that you not annoy anyone until we're back in the country. The staff at Sister Agnes' are all military trained. Stay safe._

_ -A_

Sherlock shook his head with a small smile. "John will be fine," he told Lestrade.

"Good." The other man sighed in relief. "Do you want a ride to your flat?"

"No, I'll catch a cab or walk." Sherlock nodded to Joanne. "Thank you for breakfast, Joanne. I'll call you later with an update." If Joanne noticed that he was forcing himself to be polite she made no indication. She knew she, Colleen and Ben were among the privileged few that he made the effort for.

"You're welcome, dearest. Tell John we're thinking of him, won't you and please do call if you need anything, Sherlock."

Sherlock nodded and virtually bolted out the door and into the early morning fog of London's streets.


	2. Hospitals and Doctors

**Disclaimer: I phoned the Easter Bunny again since it's nearly time for him to make his rounds but he was very rude and said that there was no way I was ever going to get Sherlock and co. from him for Easter. He's just being selfish. I know he's got them but he won't even let me have Lestrade. He did offer Anderson and I hung up on him. So yeah, they still aren't mine but not from lack of trying.**

**A/N: I am not a doctor. I have no idea if the injury that John sustained in my head is even possible but hey it works for my purposes. Please let me know if something doesn't seem right or if you have any questions except about medical stuff. My medical knowledge is gleaned from ****_Bones_**** and ****_House_**** and other such medical shows. (I.E. ****_E.R., M*A*S*H _****and****_ Gray's Anatomy)._**** Enjoy the chapter and let me know what you think even if you hate it.**

Hospitals and Doctors

Sherlock paced in front of the nurse's station at four thirty in the afternoon. "Where is he?" He hissed at the woman again. She didn't even look up this time. He'd been asking the exact same question every few minutes since he'd arrived at three thirty.

"As I've told you at least fifteen times, Mr. Watson-Holmes, the plane was delayed. They will be here as soon as they are here." She checked a few more room arrangements on her computer and never even looked over at the strange man pacing again. She did however check the ambulance's ETA. She felt sorry for Mr. Watson-Holmes, he was so obviously worried about his husband.

Sherlock glared at the woman and was tempted to tell her that the man she was sleeping with was also sleeping with her sister but refrained. He didn't want to get thrown out. Mycroft wasn't here yet to ensure that he could be by John's side even if he offended the staff.

"Mr. Watson-Holmes?" A male voice asked from behind him. "Are you Sherlock Watson-Holmes?"

Sherlock spun on the man. "Yes."

The grey haired man in the white lab coat denoting him as a doctor smiled with what he thought was a pleasant smile Sherlock could tell he was bored and irritated though. "Good. Good. I'm Doctor Pelter. I'll be taking over your brother's case once he arrives. I just thought I'd come and introduce myself."

Sherlock deliberately widened his eyes in shock. "What happened to Mycroft? Is Anabella with him? Is he all right?" He shot the questions out as fast as he could. The man was obviously an idiot. Any good doctor should have read John's file before coming to talk to him.

Dr. Pelter looked confused. "I'm sorry? Who is Mycroft? Are you sure you're Mr. Watson-Holmes?" His face took on a worried expression as though he thought he might be dealing with a madman. He was but not the way he thought.

The nurse behind the desk, Lindsey, covered her snicker with a cough. From behind Dr. Pelter's back she winked and grinned at Sherlock then mouthed "Thirty minutes." Sherlock gave her a nod and a small smile in thanks. _See John, I can manage human interactions,_ he thought with a mental smirk and then it faded as he remembered why and where he was.

Sherlock turned his attention back to the doctor and barely contained a sneer. "You said you were taking over my brother's case when he arrives. My brother is Mycroft Holmes. What happened to him? He was fine earlier this morning when he texted me." He held up his phone as if in proof.

"Oh, I see now," Dr. Pelter nodded and smiled softly as though trying to reassure a small child. "Not that brother, Mr. Watson-Holmes, your other brother, John Watson-Holmes."

"Doctor, or if you prefer Captain, John Watson-Holmes is not my brother," Sherlock intoned. Irritated at the man's complete lack of thought processes. Reminded him of Anderson, actually and that was not a good thing.

The doctor's brow wrinkled in confusion again. "Half-brother? Cousin?" He tried.

"Husband," Sherlock smirked. Lindsey covered her grin with her hand. "Dr. John Watson-Holmes is my husband. If you are too idiotic to actually read his file then you are far too idiotic to be in charge of his recovery. Leave now." He waved a hand dismissively and turned to pace away already back to typing on his phone.

Dr. Pelter spluttered for a moment and Lindsey's suppressed giggles were causing her face to redden. Finally both collected themselves. "That is not your choice, Mr. Watson-Holmes. I am the doctor on call and I shall be overviewing your…husband's recovery."

Sherlock looked the man over from head to feet and back again. "No, no you won't," he said seriously. "You are a mediocre doctor and a tedious man. Your children ignore you and your wife knows about the ongoing affair you've had with a surgical nurse for the past five years. Stay away from my husband."

"Pardon? How…" Dr. Pelter stumbled over his words, his face reddening with temper.

"How did you know all that?" Lindsey asked astonished. "And what do you know about me?"

"Do you really want to know?" Sherlock asked in a rare moment of empathy. "Most people don't like it when I deduce them. My husband being the exception, as always."

Lindsey cocked her head to the side in thought. "I think I'd rather not know, actually. I've got nothing to hide but still…" She had no desire to hear that someone else knew about Lacey and Jared. It was embarrassing enough that she knew.

Sherlock nodded and turned his attention back to Dr. Pelter when the other man continued spluttering. "You may be the doctor on call right now but my husband has his own doctors coming in with him. They will treat him and you will stay the Hell away from him."

Dr. Pelter opened his mouth to retort. "Dr. Pelter to the helipad. Dr. Pelter to the helipad." The voice over the PA system interrupted him before he could get a word out.

"I am in charge of this hospital, Mr. Holmes," Dr. Pelter ignored the page in favor of his arrogant, pompous blustering.

"Watson-Holmes," Sherlock corrected cheerfully.

"And as such, I decide who is in charge of which cases. As I am the best surgeon here at the moment I have put myself in charge of your spouse's case. There is nothing you can do to change that. I have the authority here." Dr. Pelter puffed himself up and tried to stare this irritating man down.

Sherlock only smirked and turned to the nurse. "How long?"

"Twenty minutes, Mr. Watson-Holmes. Would you like a cup of tea while you wait?" Lindsey smiled at him.

"Dr. Pelter come to the helipad. Dr. Pelter come to the helipad." The PA system squawked again, the voice on the other end seeming impatient.

"No." Sherlock told Lindsey and resumed his pacing while texting on his phone completely ignoring the fuming man making his way to the helipad.


	3. John

**Disclaimer: Sherlock and Co. are still not mine. Nuts! It's so not fair.**

**A/N: I think this is the last chapter of this story. It is for now anyway. I'll open it back up when I finish the one that immediately follows it maybe but for now this is the end. Thank you for reading. Review if you like. And thank you to Redhood for the review. Glad you like my stories.**

John

Sherlock had moved his pacing to the hallway outside the door of the room they were settling John in. The idiots that Mycroft had hired wouldn't allow him in the room until they had all the equipment hooked up to his husband. It was completely unfair. He knew what John needed better than they ever could. John needed him.

He'd only caught a flash of that beloved face. It had been pale, paler than he'd ever seen it and John had been unconscious. It was an image that would haunt him and he knew it wouldn't allow itself to be deleted like any other unwanted and unnecessary data. Nothing about John was ever deleted. He'd tried before but every minute with John or about John resisted deletion.

"Mr. Watson-Holmes?" A soft voice called to him from behind and he spun around to face the speaker.

"Yes." Sherlock told the short, squat Asian woman in the white lab coat.

"I'm Dr. Fugikama. You're brother called me in to monitor your husband's condition," she explained to him in excellent if slightly accented English. "Dr. Watson-Holmes is doing as well as can be expected in these circumstances and it will only be a few more minutes until you will be allowed in to see him." She kept her voice quiet and respectful.

"In these circumstances?" Sherlock asked, beginning to feel alarmed at her wording.

Dr. Fugikama sighed. "I'm sorry Mr. Holmes but there seems to be a bleed somewhere. It's not big and we don't believe it to be life-threatening yet." She hurried to reassure him when his eyes widened. "We don't know where it is and we won't without more tests but we know it's there because his blood count isn't rising as it should. We're going to monitor him and hope that it fixes itself. If it hasn't slowed by tomorrow we'll do the tests. We will monitor him very closely between now and then."

"Will the vein be able to repair itself?" Sherlock asked curious. "His records said there was an infection. Will that impact his body's ability to repair itself? How long until the bleed becomes life-threatening?"

Dr. Fugikama gave him a small smile. "I love talking to people that understand medical speak," she told him. "It should repair itself but we don't actually know. The human body is an amazing thing. Sometimes if the person's will is strong enough, like Dr. Watson-Holmes' apparently is, the body will survive injuries that should have seen them dead instantly. Dr. Watson-Holmes has an amazing will to live. I'm sure you could gather from the report that he was seriously wounded." Sherlock nodded painfully. "And yet he survived what should have been a killing shot. I firmly believe that he will come through this, Mr. Holmes. I also believe that he will make a full recovery. Luckily the damage from the bullet is minimal in muscle damage. It shattered his scapula and pierced the artery but somehow only nicked a few muscles in the shoulder." She patted his arm and Sherlock controlled his instinct to back up. "He'll be just fine, I know it."

"While your faith is commendable we do not give our patient's families false hope here at Sister Agnes'," a dark voice interrupted them.

"Pardon?" Dr. Fugikama tilted her head at the intruder and glared hotly. "And just who are you?"

"I am Dr. Ronald Pelter. I'm in charge of Sister Agnes'." The man told her pompously. Sherlock tuned them out and turned to watch the activity in the hospital room through the small window in the door. He was confident that the short, fiery woman would handle the arrogant doctor with no problems.

"Mr. Holmes?" A male voice asked at his shoulder a few minutes later.

Sherlock turned his head and took in the red haired man in the black suit. "Mycroft finally sent guards. Good."

The man gave him a smile and a nod. "Yes sir."

"Mr. Watson-Holmes," Dr. Fugikama eyed the black suited man and then turned her attention to the room and then Sherlock. "They're finished. You can go in now."

"No, he cannot! I have not yet examined my patient." Dr. Pelter insisted. "I must examine him before he can have visitors. And if this man's attitude doesn't change he will not be allowed in. Attitude is the first step to recovery." Sherlock snorted softly.

The man in the black suit stepped in front of the irate doctor. "ID please, sir." He held his hand out patiently but there was an icy coating to his voice and eyes.

Sherlock tuned them out again and slowly opened the door of John's hospital room. Quietly he entered and the bustle of people filed out leaving him alone with John.

With cautious steps he approached the bed that held the only person whom he had ever loved with everything he had. His eyes and brain catalogued every single change in his husband and his breath caught. He'd come so close to losing him. Never again, he vowed. John would not ever come that close to dying again, not if Sherlock could stop it.

"Sher…lock? Is…that you?" John's voice was rough and slightly slurred.

Sherlock took the last two steps to the hospital bed and scooped up the hand that was lying on it. "Yes, John, I'm here."

"Good. The fire…didn't get you."

Sherlock briefly wondered what that meant and then decided it didn't matter, John was drugged to the gills on pain killers, antibiotics and who knew what else. "No, John, I'm perfectly fine."

The hand in his squeezed weakly and dazed hazel eyes met sorrow filled grey ones. "Love you," John said. "Glad…you're here."

Sherlock blinked the blurriness from his eyes. "I love you too."

John smiled and stared. "You cryin'?"

Sherlock raised John's hand to his lips and kissed it before cradling it to his cheek. "No John."

Hazel eyes fluttered closed. "Tired," John sighed.

"Sleep then," Sherlock whispered. "I'll be here when you wake."


End file.
